


Anecdotes

by sunflowerwonder



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 1-2 pages each, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Sburb/Sgrub, Striders being cute brothers, dave youre such a goddamn teenager, dysfunctional mamma bird bro, he tries really hard, mamma bird bro, short story collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwonder/pseuds/sunflowerwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short vignettes about the life and glory of sharing the Strider name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Candy Apple Red

**Author's Note:**

> A small collection of my ramblings that were never long or well-written enough to stand alone. 
> 
> Inspired by a prompt list I've since lost, though the prompts themselves are the chapter titles.

Your eyes fucking suck. And that’s with no exaggeration. If you actually cared to elaborate you’d probably spend a good few days locked in your room with a couple thousand mile scrolls written with blood and tears of rambling metaphors about how much your eyes completely fucking sucked.

They hurt in the sunlight. They hurt when it was cloudy. They even hurt when lights were too bright at night. It took you a good ten minutes for them to adjust in the morning, and that’s even when you had your shades on. They got you teased all the way through elementary school. And even though your Bro forged some BS doctor’s note allowing you to wear sunglasses in middle school, you were now just known as the douchebag kid who tried too hard to be cool. (Which, in its own respect, was ironically correct.)

But the worst part was that they were undoubtedly, horribly, terribly, and unironically, the uncoolest shade of bright candy apple red in the history of paradox space. And not even the cool vampire color that all the ladies swooned for. You were talking obnoxious cherry bright irises here, not a cool and mysterious maroon or an electric crimson. Just red. You hated them. 

Your Bro always liked them though. His were a boring shade of light golden brown that he claimed were bright orange when he was younger. He says your eyes will dull eventually. It’s in the Strider genes. You should respect your heritage and all that shit. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t exactly have any heritage to respect, but considering this whole conversation was taking place in the midst of you getting your ass kicked by him in a strife, you decided to instead block the shitty anime sword aimed at your face.

In the quieter, rarer, moments when you were discussing such things, he’d tell you they were attractive, or rather, they looked badass. And that the kids at your school must be fucking insane to pick on you for something like having awesome eye color. 

You said you just let it roll off your back, like he told you to.

You got a fistbump for that.

“Just the Strider way,” he’d say, looking off in the distance as intentionally overdramatically as possible, “Just different. No one likes someone who’s different.”

“Bro, it’s not different. It’s just weird. I’m not gonna lie, my eyes are pretty damn creepy.”

“Badass,” he’d reply, “Not creepy.”

“Yeah, badass.”

“Well, regardless. Don’t listen to those assholes.”

“I know. You’ve taught me well, dude.”

“That’s sensei to you.”

“What the fuck ever.”


	2. Suitably warm

It’s late when you get back. Hell, it’s always late when you get back. But he’s there, as usual, texting on his IPhone and leaving the start screen of an old PS2 game blaring the perfect volume; above obnoxious but below getting the cops called. What a good little douchebag. Just like you taught him. 

You set your old worn black duffel bag down, kicking it until it was flush against the wall, and plopped down on the futon next to him. You ruffled his hair in greeting like usual, and he punched you on the shoulder. It was good, familiar, nice even, despite the glowing numbers on Dave’s phone displaying that it was past two. 

“Aren’t you tired, lil’ man?” you said, voice coming out a lot more exhausted than you expected it to. 

You hoped Dave didn’t catch that hint of weakness. Though something inside you knew he did. If that was true, however, he wasn’t giving you any shit about it. He just shrugged, locking his phone and slipping it back into his hoodie, before scooting over to your side of the couch to lean casually into you. You both sat there for a minute simply staring into the glitchy bright colors and too loud sound effects of whatever he currently wasn’t playing on the TV.

“Nah, ‘m good,” he replied finally, “missed you.” 

It’s quiet, barley above a whisper, but you hear it. And smile.

“Missed you too, little bro!” you shout, pouncing on him and wrapping an arm around his head to give it a good scrubbing. He flounders around as usual, throwing stray punches at you between renditions of “Ah! Shit!” and “Bro you fucking loser!”

When you finally release him, he simply huffs and shoves you away, an evil but harmless look in his eyes. You smirk, knowing you’re acting the exact opposite of how he always claims you should be in situations like these. You don’t care though. He knows you love him. And you know he loves you. Even though you’re his guardian, it was a suitable brotherly relationship. Regardless of how unhealthy some would call it. 

You bump his shoulder playfully with your own, but his pouting continues.

“C’mon dude,” you say, and you raise your eyebrow at the glimpse of an eye roll from the sliver of his face you can see from the sides of his shades, “I promise I’ll get done earlier next time. Want to Bro-hug it out and go to sleep? I dunno about you but I’m fucking tired.”

He doesn’t say anything, but hugs you regardless. It’s comforting. He’s warm like usual, and it suits him considering the bundle of spitfire he can turn into. You chuckle into his pale hair and break off the embrace, “Now get to bed. I don’t want your teachers on my ass again about you falling asleep in class.”

“Yeah. Gets pretty tiring waiting up for your douchey face,” he shoots out quickly, “Night, Bro.” 

He’s gone almost before you’re able to catch the even quieter “love you,” mumbled after it.

“Love you too, kid,” you reply, and judging from the half-second flashstep hug he gives you, he heard it.


	3. Chapter 3

There were a lot of times when you wanted to just sit down and talk with him, but you never did. There really never was a reason too. The kid was pretty self-sufficient, having been able to fend for himself since he was two. At thirteen he probably knew more about sex than you due to his time on the internet, so you dodged having to discuss that rather awkward bullet. He did well in school without you asking him to. He had goals, you hoped, and if he never felt the need to share them with you then so be it, but if not, that was cool. You were here if he needed something, but you were never the doting type.

You never discussed the future. You never went there.

But you were concerned, without a doubt. Your life dealings were… shady, to say the least. Many times you had laid down on your makeshift couch-bed and wondered what would happen if something actually _happened_. What he would do if you weren’t there. What would become of him if you managed to get yourself killed. 

You’d arranged for Lalonde to take him in. And set up financials. Dysfunctional as you were you still held a little foresight. But you wondered if he could handle it. Handle you dying.  
You don’t talk about it. You never went there.

Sometimes you dreamed about it happening. Getting stabbed dramatically and surprisingly, like something straight out of the animes. And he’d be there, trying not to cry because you told him not to. Holding back everything because that’s how you raised him, that’s how you taught him to deal with things, that’s how you fucked him up.

You don’t think about it. You never went there.

You were never meant to raise a kid. It’s a miracle he’d turned out so great.

So you left him a note. Stuck to his door with a shuriken. Much better than talking. Easier for both of you too.

It explained everything, where he would go in case of your death, what he should do, where money was, all the important shit. You also said that if he even tried to commit suicide you’d personally drag yourself up from the depths of hell to kick his ass. You hoped you got everything across.

He’d sent you a note back the next day, leaving it duct taped industrially to your computer screen, payback for the fresh cut in his bedroom door.

what the hell bro  
you leaving me or something

You left a reply with the general air of “fuck no, you’re my little bro” and dropped it.

After all, it was easier to just not go there.


	4. Where Will It Be Found?

You grew up in a rather fucked up household. You liked it though. It was all you’d ever known, so how could you not? When you were young your shitty apartment was your entire world. Just you and your Bro. And Cal, when you felt generous enough to include him as your family. You’d laugh with Bro about the people you’d read about in books or see on TV. Joke about their stereotypical little families and make fun of their mundane lives. That was normal. You and Bro were normal. 

But still, you felt like something was missing. 

There was something about your best friend John that you really liked. John got picked up every day in the carpool line, while you’d had to take the bus from the moment your Bro deemed you old enough. He was always smiling and twittering on about this story or that. He always had this big goofy buck-toothed smile on his face, contrasting your already formed Strider stoic mask. Every day at pickup he’d run to his dad, who looked and breathed everything _dad_ , and every day Mr. Egbert would swing John up by the arms and give him a big hug, and sometimes even let him ride on his shoulders. John’s lunch was always packed. John’s clothes were always new. John’s house was always clean and smelled nice and fresh and unmistakably like a _home_.

You realized that you didn’t like those things about John, you envied them. 

And you started to think Bro knew it to. You tried to hide it, but you knew he saw you staring. He knew you gazed longingly at the kids who’s parents hugged and kissed them. He tried his best to be like that, you could feel it. But he wasn’t fit to raise a kid. He told you so continuously. Said he was just trying his best not to fuck you up.

You were still looking for that sense of family though. You didn’t know why you were different. You still wanted your brother, but actual parents would be great too. /Where could you find a family? What made you so different that you couldn’t have one? Where were your actual parents? Why weren’t they there for you? 

Bro would grow serious when you’d bark these questions at him. You were just a kid, but you knew he was hiding something from you. And you’d had the upmost displeasure of hanging out at John’s house during some family get together (He’d asked you to come over because “My family is soooo boring, Dave!”) and had seen how many people he had who loved him, who he could depend on. You wanted that. You were selfish and you wanted that. You wanted that more than anything.

And your bro would run his hands uncharacteristically through his hair, kneeling down to your height and wiping the fat childish tears off your cheeks and giving you a big hug.  
“I know, I know. I’m a shitty parent and I know. But I’m your family, okay? I can’t do all that gooey stuff, you know that. But I’m here. I’m here,” He’d murmur to you, and you’d feel guilty for making him sad. You felt like there was something more, but you didn’t push it. He was your family. You had your family in your Bro. There was nothing to look for when he was already here. “I’m sorry,” he’d always say, when he was too tired from work and all he could do was hold you. He’s your Bro. He’s your family.


	5. Three Reasons

There were three blaring, large, bright, what-the-fuck-are-you-doing, reasons to keep on walking. 

One: It was a meteor shower gone wrong. People would be scrounging around the crater in no time. The kid would be found. Be regarded as some freak survival incident. Be placed with some rich Texan couple. Bam, living the good life. 

Why the fuck were you even looking at him.

Two: You were a trashy douchebag living in a shitty apartment that was far from child safe. Your main source of income was niche porn. Your main source of companionship was a puppet. 

Why the fuck were you even moving towards him.

Three: You couldn’t raise a kid. You could barely keep your own mouth fed much less a baby’s. You were dysfunctional as all hell too. This was stupid. 

Why the fuck were you holding him.

“Hey there, lil man,” you said quietly, holding him to your chest and seeing his bright, red eyes looking up at you.

“How’d you like to be a Strider, eh?”


End file.
